Black Sheep
by A m r a k l o ve
Summary: He's broken;lost, and she's trying to fix him. "You came back," his eyes widen slightly, "that's enough." / SasuSaku; Post-canon.


**A/N:** Well, I have no regrets xD This is purely smut—not really explicit but still M-rated, just in case—cuz I couldn't restrain my damn fingers, #sorrynotsorry. Hope you like it, though. While writing this, I was listening to _Haunted_, by Beyoncé (it's so good just saying cofcof). (Disclaimer: Naruto is not mine, blahblah.)

* * *

**_Black Sheep._**

.

.

.

He twists; he bites; he dominates; he taints.

She's high beneath him; she's lost on top; she's screaming his name, arching her back, exposed to the cold temperature of the room—the hot wind at the training grounds, the frigidness of a wall at a party, the counter of his kitchen, the wooden floor of her apartment, the shower tiles in the steaming bathroom, while feeling the forgotten water cascade around their bodies, she muses, are all accurate sites for a lost, black sheep and a deep warmth in the middle of winter losing themselves around thick sweat and sweet nothings.

He grabs her hands and pins them to the bed and it's the first time she's allowing him to take her like this, gazing into her eyes with clearly apparent lust and signs of soon-to-be tiredness, on his bed—dark and with his scent: fresh, with a tint of fire, masculine and so, so Sasuke. She allows him to, though, just this time, make love to her (fuck her hard), because she knows that when it is over and their heavy breathing mixes in between the sheets while she smiles and combs her soft hands through his hair, she's going to love him the most. She's going to give her heart to the man that has conquered everything she represents from the very start of everything—when they were young and she stole glances at him and she blushed for every little thing because she was naïve, in love.

She's going to love him with no guarantee that it's going to be reciprocated, but that, she knows, won't matter anymore. She has loved him for a long time—even with his complaints—to be bothered by such things. He's broken and she's trying to put him back together with every little gesture possible. She's giving herself—body and soul.

The headboard hits the wall with so much force she thinks it's going to create a hole. She's writhing, with her legs wrapped around a waist, underneath a man with a god-like body.

He kisses her, and she's immediately haunted.

"Sakura."

"Mmm..."

"A-ah, fuck."

"Ahh... Sasuke-kun!"

He kisses her again. She's soon staring at a white, bare world for a second in the dimness of the barely lit room. He makes her see the stars for a long time—long after her first orgasm is gone and her second is around the corner.

He thrusts out his own release inside of her, eyes closed and frown deep in concentration. She thinks she hears him groan low against her ear, but the sound is lost when she moans loudly against his skin. Then, she shivers as a wave of pleasure runs along her body and pools between her inner thighs. She knows his strong hold on her body is going to leave more than one bruise.

And in the end, he's next to her, watching her with tired eyes (as she predicted) and even breathing, tracing patterns on her pale, silky skin. She has her eyes closed. She can't look at him, not yet. Sakura feels butterflies in her stomach, an immense peace, intense warmth, and unwavering love, all at once. It's the best feeling she has ever experienced, she concludes.

"Look at me," he whispers. If she wasn't a skilled shinobi, she wouldn't have heard it at all. His voice cracks for the tiniest moment—she briefly worries. But then he caresses her cheek, she looks at him, and he finally takes her heart away, to lock it in the confines of his own, broken one. She's been conquered.

"I've been looking," she battles her eyelashes and he attentively watches every move.

"What have you found?" He raises an eyebrow at her, amused at their little talk. She's quick to smile.

"I love you," she whispers back, pausing for a while, gathering the breath that was not there before, to then keep voicing the words—mouthing the next anyway. But he understands. "So much."

Something flashes across his eyes, but it's soon gone and he fixes her a cold—hurt—glare, "you shouldn't."

"Fight me, Uchiha," she half-heartedly jokes in hushed tones. He doesn't buy it.

"Sakura."

"Sasuke-kun," she's too tired to keep talking, but it is necessary, "it's too late to change my mind, so don't even try."

He's quiet; surveying the scene, looking for words to say. "Anyway," she breathes, "I'm okay with it, though. I have felt it for a while."

He frowns at the small blush that adorns her cheeks. "You already knew that," she murmurs. It should be uncanny to be so imperfectly perfect.

_I don't deserve you; I don't deserve your love; I don't deserve any of it,_ he thinks.

"It's good to hear it, Sakura," he averts his gaze when she blushes even more, "once in a while."

"Sasuke-kun..."

He inches closer to her, careful, as if he were to move too fast, he would scare her away.

Suddenly tongue-tied, he doesn't waste any time to press his lips to hers, finding her nakedness under the sheets to be very useful. She giggles, threading long fingers in his hair. "Thank you."

_It's always a thank you, isn't it?_ But she wouldn't have it any other way. "You came back," his eyes widen a little, "that's enough."

He locks her heart in the safest place he can find; he keeps her safe. And, maybe, he feels himself right there begin to heal.


End file.
